


Just Desserts II

by Darksidekelz



Series: Just Desserts [2]
Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, some really messed up stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: Tarantulas is still haunted by nightmares of his previous encounter with Rampage.  Meanwhile, helpless to protest Megatron's most recent scheme to mutilate his spark, Rampage is on the hunt for an outlet upon which to vent his frustration.





	Just Desserts II

**Author's Note:**

> As the name implies, a sequel to 'Just Desserts' (link at the end of the chapter). It does reference the events of the last fic, but I think this one is pretty self explanatory.
> 
> There is some fucked up shit in here. Please do take heed of those tags.
> 
> Dedicated to the small handful of y'all who really liked the first one. I really like all of you!

There were hands on him, large, strong, blunt - tearing him apart, breaking through his plating, hurting him.  A powerful frame, a dark looming shadow at least twice his size - no - bigger, always bigger, tossed him about like he was as tiny and insignificant as the creature his alt mode was based on.  A beak dug into him, ripping chunks from his body, draining the energon from his fuel lines. Every night, this creature came to him, devoured him, left him for dead - a husk of his once-proud glory.

Tarantulas was terrified.

He tried not to think of it, tried to keep busy with some project or another.  It wasn’t too difficult. Ravage had come and gone, and he’d been given the order to put the plans of the Tripredacus Council into motion.  And that was to say nothing of his own plans, that he worked toward whenever he had a spare moment. But he couldn’t work all the time. Tarantulas still had to sleep.

And that was where the memories plagued him the most, as he sat in his web, trembling at how easily that monster had turned the tables on him, even trapped as it was, in yet another web.  Even here, where he should have felt safest, Tarantulas couldn’t keep his plating from crawling. He took to sleeping on the ceiling, for added safety, and even then, the nightmares left him with more than one sleepless night.  He was not in good shape, and was getting worse with each passing day. 

Try as he might to forget, he could still feel Rampage’s hands on him, feel the lingering itch of that brutal assault inside his body, the hot whisper of that creature’s breath on his spinal strut.  Even months later, Tarantulas was living in a constant state of terror. And it was beginning to show.

“Tarantulas,” said Megatron, in that snooty way of his.  He’d noticed; of course he had. He’d been gracious enough to allow Tarantulas back into the ranks, but the position was tentative.  Tarantulas was under no illusions as to his new position amongst the Predacons - known traitor as he was. He was walking on thin ice.  The moment he was no longer useful to Megatron, he would be dead, and he was well aware of the fact.

Still, it was with a sweet voice that he replied, “Yes, Lord Megatron?  How can I help you today, and do make it brief; the revamps to yo -  _ our _ security system,” he corrected hastily, fully aware of Megatron’s disapproving frown, “are very, shall we say, involved.  I would hate to make a mistake due to distraction. You understand.”

It was the best thing he could come up with at the moment, but it was still the wrong thing to say.  A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and Tarantulas couldn’t stave off the flinch, as his mind transformed it into the similar hands of Rampage.  He managed to maintain a neutral expression, however, as Megatron spun him around in his chair, until the two were facing.

“Ah, yes, I understand,” Megatron agreed dismissively.  There was something deeply unnerving about the smile on his face.  Perhaps Tarantulas had already outlived his usefulness. He prayed that wasn’t the case; he hadn’t had time to prepare a contingency plan for that particular issue.  “But I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been on edge lately, and that concerns me very much, yes,” He slid his hand up Tarantulas’s shoulder, stroking a thumb along his jaw, tracing a path over the claws that framed his face, before fixing a loose grip on a horn.  Tarantulas stiffened, preparing himself to be torn to bits once again. It shouldn’t have scared him so much; it was becoming a common theme in his life by this point.

“I admit, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” Tarantulas tried not to squeak out, but his voice betrayed him.  

“Yes, well, that is hardly an excuse for turning in inferior work, don’t you think?”  His grip tightened, and he wrenched Tarantulas’s head to the side, for no reason other than to show off his power.

_ I can control your body this much with barely any effort.  Imagine what I could do to you if I tried. _

Tarantulas didn’t want to think about it.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “I should assign you a supervisor.  I bet  _ Rampage _ would be up to the task.”

And with that one word, Tarantula’s fuel tanks dropped.  The energon froze in his lines. There was no hiding his fear, not from Lord Megatron.  But he was smart enough to understand his position, and smart enough to know that Megatron loved a good bargain, almost as much as he loved senseless death.

“I d-don’t think that will be necessary, my  _ Lord _ .”

“No?  And why is that, Tarantulas?”  The grin on his lips was absolutely devious.  

“Because having a supervisor will ruin the surprise I’m making for you.”

Megatron released his horn, and flashed his perfect teeth in a gleeful smile.  “A  _ surprise _ ?” he said, playing up his excitement.  “Why Tarantulas, you know how much I love a good surprise.”  His innocent joy was short-lived. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Tarantulas’s thighs, and allowing his full weight to rest there.  It hurt.

“Though I can’t say I trust  _ you _ to provide me with a good surprise, my dear Tarantulas.  You’re just a little too treacherous for my liking, don’t you think?”  He leaned in closer, until his face was mere inches away. “Why don’t you give me a hint?”

Moment of truth.

“Well,” Tarantulas said, trying his hardest not to cave to his fear.  If only his stupid frame would stop shivering. “Let’s just say it rhymes it ‘Wynobot Drone.’”

“Hmm?” Megatron pulled back.  “I’m listening.”

He should’ve known that wouldn’t be enough, but it was a start.  Tarantulas ran through a list of things he could possibly throw together with such short notice.  Oh, what the hell.

“Yes,” he said.  “Also, I’d hate to throw around words like ‘Transmetal II,’ or, say, plurals, but . . .”

“Tease!” Megatron laughed, and pulled away, but not before running an affectionate hand over Tarantulas’s head.  “Very well, Tarantulas. I will allow you to your privacy, for now. But do take this warning to spark; I will not tolerate any further subpar work from you.  Is that understood?”

“Y-yes!” Tarantulas squeaked, cursing his stupid voice for betraying him once again.

He watched Megatron’s retreating back, the immediate threat had passed, but he was far from safe.  There was little doubt in Tarantulas’s mind that Megatron would make good on his word, would subject Tarantulas to his greatest fear given half the chance, and he would take pleasure in it.

Tarantulas needed to make sure it didn’t come to that.  He needed a contingency plan, a way to take care of Rampage, should he inadvertently wind up trapped at his mercy once more.  

His spark fluttered at the thought, an unconscious response that left Tarantulas recoiling in disgust.  What had that monster done to him?

~~~

How dare he?!

Rampage may not have been much on religion, but over the years (and in no small part due to his current predicament), he’d come to have very strong opinions on sparks - namely, that those who dared toy with, alter, or carve up a spark for their own personal gain, were irredeemable, soulless monsters that were best eradicated before they could hurt him again.  True, Rampage himself was an irredeemable, soulless monster that fit right in with the likes of the Predacons, but he bore no love for them. 

Megatron had violated his soul the moment he’d stuck that knife it it, cut it in two, used his own half as a personal plaything, to keep Rampage docile and under his command.  It had been brutal, and it had been cruel, but Rampage had long-since grown used to the empty hole in his chest, the constant nagging sense of dread, the knowledge that his life no longer belonged to himself (had it ever)?

And then, Megatron had gone and stuck Rampage’s spark in that abomination.

He had few memories of Dinobot, but everyone on team Predacon knew of Megatron’s obsession with his once-wayward underling.  It was the sort of thing that the others liked to gossip about when they thought no one was looking. Rampage had never involved himself in such things, but he was not deaf, and he was not stupid.

The spark belonged to him, but now it was tainted, warped into something that was distinctly someone else, someone who was unquestioningly loyal to Megatron, who  _ desired _ Megatron, and Rampage could feel it.  Every burst of passion, the pain, pleasure inflicted between the pair.  It was enough to make him sick. It was enough to bring him to complain.

“This is vile!” he hissed through the pain, as that smirking monstrosity dug a claw into its own spark, forced Rampage to the floor in a fit of agony.  “You can’t do this!” His protestations would fall on deaf ears; they always did. But he was sick of sitting idly by, doing nothing. Something had to change, and it had to change soon.

“Why Rampage,” Megatron sneered, “just what is it that you think  _ I _ did?”  He laughed, and leaned back in his throne, stroking a hand down the spine of that hideous  _ creature _ that stood at his side.  Dinobot’s stolen spark flared at the contact, filling Rampage with further disgust.  

“That . . .  _ thing _ ,” he hissed, not sure where to go from there.  They’d had this conversation before, and nothing had ever come from it.  This time was sure to be no different.

But it seemed that Megatron was in a particularly malicious mood today, though his ire, for once, was directed elsewhere.  “Why Rampage,” he said, “I’m surprised at you. I am many things, yes, but I am not so skilled an engineer to create such a twisted miracle of life, wouldn’t you agree?”  This time, his hand wrapped itself around Dinobot’s throat, blunt fingers stroking at his sharp jaw. Rampage growled.

Megatron wasn’t wrong, however.  What he  _ was _ doing, was directing Rampage’s ire elsewhere, trying to blame this freak of science and nature on someone other than himself.  Twisted as he was, even Rampage could see that much. 

“I suppose so,” he hissed, scorn dripping from his every word.  Outwardly he agreed, but he made his feelings on the subject quite clear.

And though Megatron was abundantly aware of Rampage’s feelings, it seemed that he felt the need to keep playing his game.  “So, if I was angry with this turn of events, I should think it most appropriate to direct my complaints towards the one directly responsible, yes?”

“Yes,” Rampage said, with more sincerity this time, as his green eyes bore a hole directly into Megatron’s violet.  Megatron was, as ever, unmoved by the challenge.

“Wonderful!  If that is the case, then I have the answer for you - the perfect perpetrator upon which I think you’d benefit from venting a little frustration.”

Rampage said nothing to that.  He may have wanted nothing more than to pull Megatron’s spark from his body, dig his fangs into it, tear it to pieces while its owner watched in wide-eyed agony, but barring that possibility, he would accept a substitute for his grief.  

“So, why don’t you go and see what Tarantulas is up to?”

~~~

It was a distraction, but Rampage was okay with it.  He had plenty of fond memories of the scheming spider - most of them involved ripping the pathetic little creature limb from limb while that shrill voice screamed for mercy.   _ Hmm, good times.  _  Still, as far as victims went, Tarantulas was not one of the more interesting ones.  Rampage preferred the ones that tried to fight back; it was just so satisfying to watch a brave soul break, cave in to their fear and pain - so much more delicious that way.  The spider was a coward through and through, but there was still some fun to be had there. It was rare that he came across another who shared in some of his more . . . deranged proclivities.  

Still, venting was venting, and Tarantulas made himself such an easy target.  Besides, the constant stream of unbridled terror that emanated from him whenever Rampage was near tasted absolutely delicious.  Clearly, their last encounter still held a powerful effect over him.

Then again, maybe not powerful enough.  The spider was, after all, scurrying through the woods all alone, heedless of the monster that pursued him.  That was the poor little dear’s greatest failing - his inclination towards solitude. It made him such an easy target.

Blissfully unaware, the spider skittered into yet another cave, and Rampage, with no sense of urgency, stalked after him.  The sense of vengeance was weak, but the looming encounter was bound to be fun regardless. 

He stepped into the gloomy cave, dark and barren, yet strangely spacious.  The spider couldn’t have gotten too far; Rampage could smell him - fearful.  Perhaps he had noticed, after all. Ah, what the hell? There was no fun in hiding at this point anyway.

“Tarantulas,” he called out, his menacing voice echoing off the walls of the cave.  “Come out, come out.” Obviously the spider wouldn’t be obliging, but the taunt helped in other ways.  Somewhere high above, he could hear the rattle of plating, almost as if a creature made of metal was shaking in sheer, unbridled terror.

_ Delicious. _

Rampage didn’t make it very far into the cave before he found himself restrained, wrapped up in a cyberweb once again - as though these had worked out so well for the silly spider last time.  Still, he didn’t struggle. Instead, with a laugh, he said, “Looks like you got me.”

“Yes,” the spider stuttered back, though from a safe distance, like the coward he was.  “But this time, I intend to keep you.”

“Good luck,” Rampage retorted, taking a moment to better examine the web that held him.  It seemed that it wasn’t just electromagnetism that was holding him in place, this time. The piercing sensation had been so subtle as to have nearly gotten past his notice, but from the corner of his eye, he could clearly see little filaments buried in his plating, and more peculiar, a liquid running through the strings of the web, from his own frame, and off somewhere beyond his sight.  Interesting.

There was a dark laugh, the first sign of brazenness from the spider yet.  “I don’t believe in luck,” he said. “But I do believe in my own talents. You won’t be getting out this time.”

Rampage rolled his eyes.  “We’ll see.” 

It had been a mere two words, but already the spider was sputtering, as though the retort had been genuinely upsetting.  “You’re awfully confident for someone caught in a web,” he said, his voice now echoing around the chamber. He must have moved, though wherever he was now, he remained beyond Rampage’s sight.  

“Don’t see any reason not to be.”  Rampage would have shrugged if he still retained any movement.  “Every encounter I’ve had with you has ended in your . . . beautiful dismemberment.”  His body shivered, relishing in the memory of those small, pliable limbs crumpling before his might; the taste of thick, exotic energon, like nothing he’d even encountered; and oh, the screams!

The spider’s voice came from somewhere to his right now, not too far, but still out of reach.  There was a delicious tremble within it. “And this time will be different.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” Tarantulas insisted.  “Surely you’ve noticed just what my web is doing to you?”

“The energon, yeah?” Rampage replied.  “You’re draining it; not that it will make a difference.”

This time, the sound of transformation hit his audials.  Rampage couldn’t see what the spider was doing, but it sounded as though he was fiddling with some sort of control panel.  A brief pause later, a slurping sound was added to the mix. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.

“Seems like somebody missed me,” Rampage grinned, imagining the way the spider froze mid-sip, a shudder running down his spinal strut.  When he at last spoke, however, he sounded confident enough.

“I couldn’t possibly imagine what you are talking about.”

It was a good joke.  Rampage laughed. “You’re drinking my energon right now, are you not?  Don’t bother lying; I know you are.”

For another long moment, Tarantulas said nothing, as though he were frantically trying to convince himself that he still had the upper hand.  His voice was cheerful once more when he said, “You caught me.” He giggled and slid into view, still well out of Rampage’s reach. He looked positively devilish; his dark plating blended in well with the unlit cave, but his golden optics shone bright as the energon in his hand.  To Rampage, he looked delectable. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the cocky creature.

“I admit,” he continued, carefully ignoring what must have been a horrifically hungry expression on Rampage’s own face, “I do enjoy the taste.  I’ve longed for it ever since our last . . . encounter. You yourself may be reprehensible in every way, but your life blood? I’ve tasted no better, and doubt I ever will.  Never since have I felt so strong, so enlightened. So yes, I may have . . . prepared for the inevitability that you would return here sooner or later. But this time, you won’t be leaving.”  He cackled at his private joke. 

“It’s a shame,” Rampage sighed, not remotely ruffled.  What did he have to be afraid of?

Tarantulas, however, was less than pleased with the indifferent tone.  “A shame? That’s it? You’ll be trapped in my web for the rest of your very long existence, your life’s blood mine for the feeding, and all you can say is that it’s a shame?  What, exactly, is a shame?”

Rampage chuckled this time.  “It’s a shame that you would deny yourself what you really want.”

There was a pause, a hesitation.  It seemed his bluff was playing out better than he’d hoped.  But Tarantulas was quick to cover his mistake. “I can’t begin to imagine what it is you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you know,” Rampage laughed.

“Enlighten me.”

He gazed down at the spider, a wicked gleam in his eye.  “You’re deluding yourself if you think that my energon alone will satisfy you.”

Tarantulas snorted, throwing his arms in the air.  “Won’t it? Please, the only thing great about you is your regenerative abilities.  Get over yourself.”

“That’s not all,” Rampage grinned.  “I have no doubt you missed my energon, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

“No.”  The protest was perhaps stronger than it needed to be.  How laughably predictable. 

Rampage continued, paying the denial no mind.  “You’ve missed the things I can do to you, things that no one else would dare.”

Tarantulas stiffened, taking a fraction longer with his reply than he ought to have.  “Hmm, you really are delusional, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rampage smiled.  “A Predacon hears things, you know.”

“Things?” Tarantulas hissed, his visor a narrow slit.  “And what things exactly do you hear?”

“Gossip, mostly.  Waspinator’s noticed that you’re always tense when I’m around.”

“Who wouldn’t be?  You’re a walking murder machine.”

“Quickstrike has heard my name on your lips as you sleep.”

“Well, your face does haunt my nightmares.  I can’t imagine why.”

“And our glorious Megatron has noted how very . . . receptive you are to commands once my name is dropped.”

Again, Tarantulas hesitated, his gnarled claws grasping at that which was not there.  “I believe it is called PTSD, you conniving twit!” he hissed.

“Why so angry, Tarantulas?  It’s only gossip. Unless, perhaps, there is some truth to the hearsay?”  Even if there wasn’t, it was fun to see how far he could get the spider to dance.

“There isn’t!” he snapped.  “Now stop trying to manipulate me; I won’t have it!”

“Well,” Rampage laughed, “you could always leave.  No one is stopping you. Certainly not me.”

Tarantulas grew quiet.  Oh-ho. How easily he broke.

“Tell me, Tarantulas, how did it feel?  My teeth buried in your protoform, your energon flowing into my waiting mouth.  How did it feel, with my fingers wrapped around your wrists, your limbs, pulling, ripping, separating your limbs from your body?  How did it feel, to see me over you, my spike inside of you? To know that you served your role in providing me the sort of pleasure you so like to take from others?”

He could hear the clattering of plating; Tarantulas was shaking.  It was a delicious sound, he could already feel his spike beginning to pressurize in its casing.  “You don’t need to answer; I think I already know.”

“You know nothing,” Tarantulas muttered, barely audible.

“Perhaps,” said Rampage, “but I know what I see, and what I see is a spider who is still here, still talking to me, who still can’t fully and convincingly refute the words I say.  Surely you see it too?”

Again, Tarantulas fell silent, though this time, the silence was broken by a soft scratching, claws on plating.  The poor dear was scratching up his own frame in his stress. Delightful! Rampage strained towards the sound.

“I feel the same, Tarantulas.”

“What?”

“I enjoyed our time together,” he said without a trace of dishonesty.  “I miss the feel of your frame crumpling beneath me, so soft, so pliable - bent to my will.  That sort of absolute power over another being - surely you understand?”

There was a soft, shuddering hiss from Tarantulas.  Oh yes, he no doubt was fantasizing about just that.  

“I miss your taste, your touch, you, Tarantulas.  And I don’t think it is too far out a notion to say that we both desire to couple again.  Two delightfully twisted minds, joining their bodies as one - can you think of anything more poetic?”  Rampage could, but Tarantulas didn’t bother refuting it.

“Come Tarantulas, let me take you again.  Let me become the face of your dreams, as well as your nightmares.  Let me bring these past months’ fears and fantasies to a head. Does that not sound pleasant to you?”

All at once, the webbing holding Rampage in place disappeared, sending him dropping to the floor, though he caught himself with ease.  He hadn’t completely expected it to work, but he was glad for it. Tarantulas stood across the cavern, hunched over one of his contraptions; Rampage began his approach.  “Tarantulas.”

Tarantulas straightened up, turning back towards Rampage, a glare in his eyes.  “You win,” he snarled. “I don’t know how you managed to make torture sound so . . . arousing a concept, but there we have it.  So bring it on - let’s see if you can live up to the  _ fantasies _ , as you so charmingly put it.”  He held his arms out to his sides, presenting himself as a scrumptious target, and Rampage was so very tempted to devour him whole right there, to relish in his agonized screaming, crying, begging.

But he would hold back.  Megatron would complain if he deprived the Predacons of their resident science officer.  Then again, Megatron could use a little punishment as well . . .

Still, rather than tear the bot to shreds where he stood, Rampage raced in, sweeping Tarantulas into his arms, and pressing him into the cave wall, his face buried in the spider’s neck, nibbling at the sensitive throat cables.  Tarantulas moaned against him, throwing his head back for better access, while his talons scraped against Rampage’s arms, back, and sides, looking for soft spots to tear apart.

“Mmm, you’re adorable,” Rampage mumbled against Tarantulas’s throat, as the spider’s claws managed to rip a chunk from his chest.

“That’s not one I’ve heard before,” was Tarantulas’s snide reply, before bringing the softer protoform to his mouth to nibble on.  The sight of that deranged little spider, chewing on a chunk of Rampage’s own body left him all the hotter, all the hungrier. He pressed in closer to Tarantulas, returning the favor, shifting one hand to the softer protoform of his abdomen, and pressing in with his thumb, hard enough to puncture.  This time, Tarantulas whimpered.

“F-frag,” he squeaked.  “That hurts.”

“It’s okay,” Rampage cooed, pressing their faces closer together, until their mouths were mere inches apart.  “I’ll teach you to like it.”

Tarantulas had nothing to say to that, but he did close the distance between their mouths, to approximate some kind of pseudo kiss.  Those strange little mandibles tickled at Rampage’s cheeks, and those sideways oriented jaws mouthed and nibbled at Rampage’s own beak, which matched them in orientation.  He was keen to return the favor, digging his thumb into the wound all the deeper, earning a high-pitched squeal against his mouth.

Tarantulas broke the kiss, and began to slide his fangs down Rampage’s face, desperately nibbling away with every inch, until he managed to puncture the protoform up under Rampage’s jaw, suckling at the life-giving energon that drained from the wound.  It would be hard to restrain himself for much longer, when his every desire told him to rip the spider to shreds, and feast on the pieces.

On the other hand, Tarantulas was just so squirmy when he was in pain.  Rampage could still taste the memories of limbs flailing, desperately trying to curl up around that pretty little frame, to protect the squishy bits; the shrill screams that hit his audials, the way the struggling had slowed, weakened as the spider treaded the line between life and death.  It filled Rampage with such a delicious feeling of power, one that he longed to recapture.

He shifted his leg between Tarantulas’s thighs, and enjoyed the way the spider immediately began grinding against him.  He really was turned on by this, wasn’t he? How delicious - this pathetic creature was so pliable in his grasp. Rampage had little doubt that the spider really hadn’t enjoyed the last physical encounter the two had shared, but words alone had changed his mind.  What else could he convince the spider to do?

Under the guise of passion, he pressed Tarantulas even harder into the cave wall, enough so that he could hear the shriek as a back-plate caved, and a sharp whine of pain erupted from the mech’s vocaliser.  Eight vestigial limbs flailed pointlessly, as though enough wiggling could help him escape. The only spider legs of any importance to Rampage, however, were the two that managed to work themselves into the gap between his protoform and his own backplate and started digging.  Had the spider been a little stronger, he might have been able to pry the thing off, but as it was, he barely managed a few deep cuts. The sting was a delight, even if the wounds wouldn’t stay long.

The pressure Rampage exuded, however, hadn’t been meant to squash the spider, as fitting as that would be.  Instead, the two began to slide downward with the shrieking of Tarantulas’s wrecked backplate following them all the way to the floor.  Tarantulas had since stopped feeding, and instead had buried his face at the base of Rampage’s neck shivering rather than biting. That wouldn’t do at all.  Rampage wrapped a hand around one of those horns and wrenched Tarantulas’s head upwards, enjoying the pained flicker in that yellow, optical band.

“Problem, love?”

Tarantulas hissed in reply, like some cornered beast.  Frag it all, Rampage wanted to take him then and there.  He released his spike, ridged, monstrous thing that it was.  Tarantulas stiffened at the sound of it’s deployment, his optics growing distant.

“W-wait.”

“Wait?” Rampage repeated sweetly.  “Whatever for? You’re not having second thoughts are you?”

“I-I’m just . . . well yes, that’s it exactly,” he offered the fakest of laughs, as though he could disguise his terror with jubilation.  

“So adorable,” Rampage mused, nuzzling his beak along the fangs that framed Tarantulas’s face.

“Yes, you’ve said that,” he shot back, surprisingly offended.  “And to be honest, it’s a little - err - creepy.”

“Mmm, I thought you liked creepy.”  Rampage allowed a languid hand to travel down the spider’s chest, his abdomen, lingering around the energon-dribbling puncture, before at last travelling down to his interface array, tracing the covers with a deceptive gentleness.  Tarantulas stiffened even more so; his spider legs even curled up around him, providing an annoying little barrier between their bodies.

One at a time, Rampage moved forward with his own additional limbs, prying a spider leg from its position over Tarantulas’s chest, and pinning it to the wall.  With only six crab legs at his disposal, there remained two spider legs in his way. This time, he moved his beak in, to nibble at one of the thin beams that made up the brunt of the surface area.  Tarantulas jerked the limb away.

“Well I don’t!” he snapped.

“No?” Rampage replied, undissuaded in his quest to taste all of his partner.  This time, his attention fell on those green, jewel-like fixtures that dotted the spider’s chestplate.  Upon closer inspection, they appeared to have a soft, nearly organic texture to them, like eyes. He bit at one, and it split easily, flooding his mouth with a thick, warm liquid, bitter to the taste.  Tarantulas cried out in response, but made no move to escape. Rather, he only tightened his grip on Rampage’s arms.

“N-n-no,” he whimpered, prompting Rampage to slide back up his chest, until they were face to face once again.

“Ah, you like to be the one to dish it out, but you’re no good at taking it, am I right?”  He was. It was so very obvious.

“I -”

Or maybe not.

“Your hesitation betrays you, Tarantulas,” he laughed, planting a chaste peck on Tarantulas’s forehead, and the eyeball-like jewel that sat there.  Tarantulas tensed, clearly expecting Rampage to burst that one too, and though the thought tempted him, Rampage refrained. “You don’t want it to be true, do you?”  His fingers slid around the interface panel, digging up and into sensitive seams, which earned him a shudder for his efforts. “I awakened something new in you last time, didn’t I?  Something you’re afraid to admit.”

“Just shut up and get this over with already!” Tarantulas snapped, slipping his panels open in time, fast enough to pinch Rampage’s wandering fingers between them, if only for a moment.  He moaned at the sharp burst of pleasure the act of defiance filled him with. But he didn’t dive in right away, that would have been too easy, even though he could feel a thin, slimy spike straining against his thigh, and even though that soft, warm valve called to him so sweetly.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, sliding two fingers up and inside the spider, whose optics flickered in pleasure this time.

“Maybe,” he admitted, allowing his head to lull to the side, exposing a few untouched throat cables.  “Frankly, I’d prefer anything to your attempts to psychoanalyze me, so there’s that.”

“Mmm, anything?” Rampage asked with a grin, scizzoring Tarantulas open a little further, while his beak snapped one of the throat cables - it wasn’t the primary fuel line, but the energon flowed violently nonetheless, spurting warmly into his mouth.  Tarantulas didn’t cry out this time, though his body did jerk forward, for all the good it did him with Rampage trapping him in place. He slipped a third and fourth finger up into the spider, stretching him wider than ever.

“R-Rampage,” Tarantulas groaned.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.”  With his free hand, he pried one of Tarantulas’s hands off of his antenna, and shifted it to the bleeding throat cable, giving a little push.  “You put some pressure on that so you don’t pass out. It’s less fun if you’re unconscious.” Tarnatulas did as instructed, and he didn’t even bother moving when Rampage let up his hold on the secondary limbs in favor of sliding down the spider’s body.  Ultimately, two crab legs settled on Tarantulas’s chest, one just brushing the edge of the socket that was still dripping green liquid down his frame, while a third leg massaged at the puncture in Tarantulas’s chest, earning a choked sob from the spider.

“Please, let me feed,” he begged, throwing his head back into the wall of the cave.  “It hurts!”

“Relax, Tarantulas.  Revel in the pain - it will make this so much better.”  With that said, his beak found Tarantulas’s spike, thin and lined with lime green biolights, and slid it into his mouth.  The shape of his mouth didn’t allow him to suckle, but this wasn’t the first time he’d attempted this sort of thing. He knew the exact pressure he could put on a spike to simulate a proper mouth without causing an unbearable pain, not that he wasn’t tempted.  It would have been so easy to chomp down, and the ensuing scream would have been even more delicious than the spike, but he wasn’t ready for the spider to pass out just yet. There was still so much fun to be had.

As predicted, Tarantulas didn’t relax at all.  The fear of what he expected Rampage to do to his spike outweighed any pleasure he was otherwise receiving, and he’d already lost so much energon; it was a miracle the thing managed to stay as pressurized as it was.  Rampage kept at it longer than he probably should have. He wasn’t quite sure how much longer the spider could last before he either overloaded or passed out, but there was something strangely nostalgic about having a spike in his mouth, so he allowed himself the enjoyment.

“Rampage,” Tarantulas pleaded, in a tone that could in no way be mistaken for ‘please, I want more.’  Just this once, Rampage complied, pulling himself from the spike, which left his mouth with a slick little  _ pop _ .

“Yes, my love?”

Tarantulas shuddered.  “Really? You’re going with  _ that _ pet name?”

Rampage slid up Tarantulas’s frame, until their faces were inches apart once more.  “Would you prefer ‘my snack?’” Again, his beak moved to the eye-like jewel at the center of Tarantulas’s forehead.

“N-no!” he shrieked, throwing up his hands to push Rampage away, and oh how scrumptious he looked in doing so.  But again, despite how much pleasure it would have given him to feed on those bitter, warm juices, Rampage complied.  Instead, he moved his own wrist to his mouth, ripping a hole in the protoform that covered it. He pressed it to Tarantulas’s mandibles, but the little idiot was too startled to do more than stare.

“Feed up, Tarantulas.  You’re going to need it.”

It was all the command he needed.  Greedy mandibles latched on, sucking the life blood from Rampage in a frenzy of delighted little moans and sick slurping noises.  He even began nibbling at the surrounding protoform, for an added little depraved snack. He was so precious!

Rampage moved his hips forward, aligning the head of his spike with the rim of Tarantulas’s waiting valve, and even in the midst of his meal, Tarantulas couldn’t stave off a little cringe and a whimper.  No doubt he remembered what that brutal thing had felt like the last time it had been inside of him. But Rampage was determined to start out nice and gentle. He slid inside of Tarantulas with only minimal resistance and began a slow pace of pulling out, pushing in again.  Despite his own orders to feed, Tarantulas let his head fall back, optics shuddered, and blissful contentment emanating from his EM field.

“Feel good?” Rampage cooed, burying his face in Tarantulas’s exposed throat cabling.  The severed one was still dripping energon, but it had slowed to a trickle. He lapped up every drop with a lazy gluttony.

“Well, it’s not the worst I’ve felt,” Tarantulas admitted.

“No?” Rampage pressed, sliding his hands up Tarantulas’s arms, over his chest.  The punctured gem had stopped bleeding, as had the hole in his abdomen. Rampage’s blood really was something special.  His roaming hands finally settled down, one just over Tarantulas’s aft, while the other had worked its way into the gap beneath Tarantulas’s dented backplate.  He had much better leverage like this, which he used to maneuver himself into one slow, deep thrust, lingering inside of Tarantulas for a long moment, revelling in the way the spider hunched forward, burying his face in Rampage’s chest, his lethal claws digging holes into Rampage’s shoulders, spider legs hopelessly tangled amongst Rampage’s crab legs, with the extra two tracing a path down into the massive claws that sat against his back plate.  

“I - ah - I suppose it does feel a little good.”

Rampage smiled to himself.  “I’m glad,” he said, “that it feels so good.  It just gives you that much farther to fall from here.”  It didn’t take long for the spider to realize what the words meant.  He shot bolt upright, his body tensing, valve contracting tightly around Rampage’s spike, while a look of horror filled his eyes.  Unfortunately for the poor dear, he was already trapped in an unforgiving position, no matter how much he struggled and kicked and clawed, there was no escape for him.

Rampage slammed Tarantulas back into the floor, hard enough to tear a hole in the poor mech’s already damaged backplate, and he began a brutal pace, enjoying the way that the sharp ridges of his spike left torn mesh in its wake; every time he pulled out, it was painted in a little more pink from the energon he was spilling.  But he was far from done with his torture. 

One of his hands found its way into the hole in Tarantulas’s side, and with a powerful grip, he ripped out a fistful of protoform, leaving Tarantulas screaming in agony.  Energon poured from the wound, pattering against the floor of the cave, spreading across Rampage’s belly with every thrust. 

“N-no!  Please, stop,” Tarantulas begged.  His claws found their way to Rampage’s throat, ripping at the protoform, exposing the inner cables; Rampage’s energon poured from severed fuel lines, splattering onto Tarantulas’s face, into his eyes, his mouth, but Rampage enjoyed the pain, and the fuel loss wouldn’t hurt him.  

“You’re a noisy one, aren’t you?” he rasped.  “Let’s shut you up for a moment.” There were so many options when it came to achieving that end, but ultimately, Rampage decided to take the fist-full of Tarantulas’s protoform, and shove it straight down his throat.  There was something strangely satisfying about feeding the spider a chunk of his own body, and the sputtering and gurgling as Tarantulas choked on his own cyberflesh made Rampage all the hotter still.

He pulled away from Tarantulas, just enough to get a better view of the mech’s destroyed belly.  But mangling the body wasn’t enough. He knew what he wanted to do next, the ultimate act of vengeance-tinged-by-pleasure.  One hand pressed down at the top of Tarantulas’s abdomen, creating a small gap between his frame and chestplate, and sending a huge puddle of energon spurting out from the gaping hole in is side.  

As though sensing what Rampage was up to, Tarantulas’s claws moved to Rampage’s wrists, desperately trying to tear him away, but the difference in power between the two had always been great, and even so, Rampage could feel the strength fading from Tarantulas’s frame at a rapid rate.  There was nothing he could do to stop Rampage from ripping the plating from his protoform, showering the pair in friction sparks, and more droplets of energon. But Rampage didn’t stop there.

With the protective chestplate out of the way, there was little left between him and the spider’s spark chamber.  It was easy to tear away the remaining mix of organic matter and robotic internal mechanisms between himself and what he sought.  And with all of that mess out of the way, he was left staring straight into Tarantulas’s spark, burning bright in its terror, even as Tarantulas’s body began to give out around it.

Rampage chanced a glance to the spider’s face, the sheer horror in those eyes; he wanted to commit that final moment of this pitiful creature’s existence to memory.  With any luck, he could time it to coincide with his own overload. He was so very close now. His thrusting had slowed to a crawl in his efforts to tear the spider apart, but that didn’t matter.  Soon, his time would be at hand; it was so tantalizing a thought, he could practically taste it.

With that in mind, he picked up his pace, if only just, and buried his face in Tarantulas’s gaping chest.  Weak claws wrapped around the horns that framed Rampage’s face, but they could put up no resistance; Tarantulas was on the verge of stasis lock, and once Rampage was through with him, death.  There was no stopping the inevitable.

The spider’s spark seared at his face, burning away the protoform and all traces of the organic within him, leaving the underlying robotic mechanisms bared to the world, and though it was agonizing, Rampage could only let out a moan of the utmost pleasure.  He wrapped his beak around that poor spark, desperately fighting for its life, and began to chomp down, ready to swallow it, to devour the life, the soul of the mech before him.

It was the realization of the sheer power he held between his jaws that pushed him over the edge.  His frame jerked forward, spilling hot transfluid into Tarantulas’s ruined valve, but he didn’t get to relish in his conquest.  Before he had the chance to swallow that helpless spark, he heard a sharp ringing in his head - the sound of his comm going off.  With a hiss of irritation, he released the spark and pulled out of Taratantulas’s limp frame before answering.

“What?” he snapped, regretting his sharp tone immediately.  From within his own spark, he felt a sharp burning agony. No doubt, Megatron had his depraved science experiment fingering its spark with those lethal talons it had.

“Now now, Rampage.  Is that any way to talk to your leader?”

“I - I apologize, sir,” he growled, not at all sincere.  The pain overtook him again, and he hunched in on himself, releasing a sharp cry into the echoing atmosphere of the cave.

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” said Megatron.  “But none of that matters. I need you back at base, immediately.  So do stop whatever depraved little act you are in the middle of, and get yourself over here five minutes ago.  Do you understand?”

Rampage cast a mournful glance at Tarantulas’s frame - unmoving, optics offline, painted in the violet of energon that tragically, was only really noticeable along the black and green accents of his color scheme; his spark still sat on display, tantalizing, delicious.  At another sharp pang in his own spark, however, Rampage turned away. “I understand, sir. I am on my way.”

It seemed Tarantulas had lucked out; he would live to see another day.  Rampage probably wouldn’t get another chance like this, but he couldn’t deny that he’d very much enjoyed himself today, even if it hadn’t gone exactly as he’d imagined.  His belly was full, and his spike was sated; what more could he ask for?

He left the cave, the Darksyde as his destination, and didn’t look back, didn’t spare a second thought for the mangled spider he’d left lying behind.

~~~

Even months after the affair, Tarantulas was still in pain.  His spark had never quite stopped hurting; in passive moments where he let his mind wander, he could feel the sharp sting of a mouth closing in around it.  Not a night went by that didn’t see his dreams plagued by strong hands that ripped him to pieces. And when forced into that monster’s presence under the guise of duty, Tarantulas couldn’t help but feel those acid green optics on him, just waiting for the chance to devour him once again.

He’d been beaten at his own game, humiliated, nearly killed for his damned naivety.  Rampage had been right there in his trap, and even then, when Tarantulas had rightly held all the cards, he’d lost to that terrible monster.  Never again would Tarantulas be foolish enough to fall into such a situation. This time, when he went for his vengeance (and vengeance he  _ would _ yet have), Rampage would be nowhere near him, with no way of using his manipulative tactics to force Tarantulas into his own demise.  This time, Tarantulas would wipe him out from a distance.

And why stop with Rampage?  He could get them all - Megatron, who’d caused him so much strife, Blackarachnia, Optimus Primal.  For all of them shared one weakness, one that, by virtue of his own origins, Tarantulas was immune from.  It was time to step up and show the world that he was not a mech to be mocked. It was time for the plan. 

Unicron have mercy on them all.

 


End file.
